
Class _-.JX^5_i!_ 

Book.. 

CopjiightN^ 

Ci)FlfRIGHT DEPOSm 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 



By ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 
THE VALLEY OF FEAR 
THE POISON BELT 
THE LOST WORLD 



GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
NEW YORK 



A VISIT TO 
THREE FRONTS 

GLIMPSES OF THE BRITISH 
ITALIAN AND FRENCH LINES 



BY 
ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE 

Author of "The Valley of Fear," etc. 




NEW YORK 
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 



' ; '^ '~t fv 

''::d6z 



Copyright, 1916, 
By Arthur Conan Doyle 



6^ 



SEP 30 1916 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA 



'a,A437890 



PREFACE 

IN the course of May 1916, the Italian 
authorities expressed a desire that 
some independent observer from Great 
Britain should visit their lines and report 
his impressions. It was at the time when 
our brave and capable allies had sustained 
a set-back in the Trentino owing to a sud- 
den concentration of the Austrians, sup- 
ported by very heavy artillery. I was 
asked to undertake this mission. In order 
to carry it out properly, I stipulated that 
I should be allowed to visit the British 
lines first, so that I might have some 
standard of comparison. The War Office 
kindly assented to my request. Later I 
obtained permission to pay a visit to the 
French front as well. Thus it was my 
great good fortune, at the very crisis of 
the war, to visit the battle line of each of 
[5] 



PREFACE 

the three great Western allies. I only 
wish that it had been within my power to 
complete my experiences in this seat of 
war by seeing the gallant little Belgian 
army which has done so remarkably well 
upon the extreme left wing of the hosts of 
freedom. 

My experiences and impressions are 
here set down, and may have some small 
effect in counteracting those mischievous 
misunderstandings and mutual belittle- 
ments which are eagerly fomented by our 
cunning enemy. 

Arthur Con an Doyle. 

Crowboeough, 
July 1916. 



[6] 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A Glimpse of the British Army . . .11 
A Glimpse of the Italian Army ... 38 
A Glimpse of the French Line ... 60 



[7] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 



A VISIT TO THREE 
FRONTS 

A GLIMPSE OF THE 
BRITISH ARMY 



IT is not an easy matter to write from 
the front. You know that there are 
several courteous but inexorable gentle- 
men who may have a word in the matter, 
and their presence "imparts but small ease 
to the style." But above all you have the 
twin censors of your own conscience and 
common sense, which assure you that, if 
all other readers fail you, you will cer- 
tainly find a most attentive one in the 
neighbourhood of the Haupt-Quartier. 
An instructive story is still told of how a 
certain well-meaning traveller recorded 
his satisfaction with the appearance of 
[11] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

the big guns at the retiring and peaceful 
village of Jamais, and how three days 
later, by an interesting coincidence, the 
village of Jamais passed suddenly off the 
map and dematerialised into brickdust 
and splinters. 

I have been with soldiers on the warpath 
before, but never have I had a day so 
crammed with experiences and impres- 
sions as yesterday. Some of them at least 
I can faintly convey to the reader, and if 
they ever reach the eye of that gentleman 
at the Haupt-Quartier they will give him 
little joy. For the crowning impression 
of all is the enormous imperturbable con- 
fidence of the Army and its extraordinary 
efficiency in organisation, administration, 
material, and personnel. I met in one day 
a sample of many types, an Army com- 
mander, a corps commander, two di- 
visional commanders, staff officers of 
many grades, and, above all, I met re- 
peatedly the two very great men whom 
Britain has produced, the private soldier 
and the regimental officer. Everywhere 

[12] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

and on every face one read the same spirit 
of cheerful bravery. Even the half -mad 
cranks whose absurd consciences prevent 
them from barring the way to the devil 
seemed to me to be turning into men un- 
der the prevailing influence. I saw a batch 
of them, nem'otic and largely be-spec- 
tacled, but working with a will by the 
roadside. They will volunteer for the 
trenches yet. 

If there are pessimists among us they 
are not to be found among the men who 
are doing the work. There is no foolish 
bravado, no under-rating of a dour oppo- 
nent, but there is a quick, alert, confident 
attention to the job in hand which is an 
inspiration to the observer. These brave 
lads are guarding Britain in the present. 
See to it that Britain guards them in the 
future ! We have a bad record in this mat- 
ter. It must be changed. They are the 
wards of the nation, both officers and men. 
Socialism has never had an attraction for 
me, but I should be a Socialist to-morrow 
[13] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

if I thought that to ease a tax on wealth 
these men should ever suffer for the time 
or health that they gave to the public 
cause. 

"Get out of the car. Don't let it stay 
here. It may be hit." These words from 
a staff officer give you the first idea that 
things are going to happen. Up to then 
you might have been driving through the 
black country in the Walsall district with 
the population of Aldershot let loose upon 
its dingy roads. "Put on this shrapnel 
helmet. That hat of yours would infuri- 
ate the Boche" — ^this was an unkind al- 
lusion to the only uniform which I have 
a right to wear. "Take this gas helmet. 
You won't need it, but it is a standing or- 
der. Now come on!" 

We cross a meadow and enter a trench. 
Here and there it comes to the surface 
again where there is dead ground. At one 
such point an old church stands, with an 
unexploded shell sticking out of the wall. 
A century hence folk will journey to see 
that shell. Then on again through an 

[14] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

endless cutting. It is slippery clay be- 
low. I have no nails in my boots, an iron 
pot on my head, and the sun above me. I 
will remember that walk. Ten telephone 
wires run down the side. Here and there 
large thistles and other plants grow from 
the clay walls, so immobile have been our 
lines. Occasionally there are patches of 
untidiness. "Shells," says the officer la- 
conically. There is a racket of guns be- 
fore us and behind, especially behind, but 
danger seems remote with all these Bairn- 
father groups of cheerful Tommies at work 
around us. I pass one group of grimy, 
tattered boys. A glance at their shoulders 
shows me that they are of a public school 
battalion. "I thought you fellows were all 
officers now," I remarked. "No, sir, we 
like it better so." "Well, it will be a great 
memory for you. We are all in your 
debt." They salute, and we squeeze past 
them. They had the fresh, brown faces of 
boy cricketers. But their comrades were 
men of a different type, with hard, strong, 
rugged features, and the eyes of men who 
[15] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

have seen strange sights. These are 
veterans, men of Mons, and their young 
pals of the pubhc schools have something 
to live up to. 

Up to this we have only had two clay 
walls to look at. But now our intermin- 
able and tropical walk is lightened by the 
sight of a British aeroplane sailing over- 
head. Numerous shrapnel bursts are all 
round it, but she floats on serenely, a thing 
of delicate beauty against the blue back- 
ground. Now another passes — and yet 
another. All morning we saw them 
circling and swooping, and never a sign 
of a Boche. They tell me it is nearly al- 
ways so — that we hold the air, and that 
the Boche intruder, save at early morn- 
ing, is a rare bird. A visit to the line 
would reassure Mr. Pemberton-Billing. 
"We have never met a British aeroplane 
which was not ready to fight," said a cap- 
tured German aviator the other day. 
There is a fine stern courtesy between the 
airmen on either side, each dropping notes 

[16] 



A GLIMPSE or THE BRITISH ARMY 

into the other's aerodromes to tell the 
fate of missing officers. Had the whole 
war been fought by the Germans as their 
airmen have conducted it (I do not speak 
of course of the Zeppelin murderers), a 
peace would eventually have been more 
easily arranged. As it is, if every frontier 
could be settled, it would be a hard thing 
to stop until all that is associated with 
the words Cavell, Zeppelin, Wittenberg, 
Lusitania, and Louvain has been brought 
to the bar of the world's Justice. 

And now we are there — in what is 
surely the most w^onderful spot in the 
world, the front firing trench, the outer 
breakwater which holds back the German 
tide. How strange that this monstrous 
oscillation of giant forces, setting in from 
east to west, should find their equilibrium 
here across this particular meadow of 
Flanders. "How far?" I ask. "180 
yards," says my guide. "Pop!" remarks 
a third person just in front. "A sniper," 
says my guide. "Take a look through the 
periscope." I do so. There is some rusty 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

wire before me, then a field sloping slightly 
upwards with knee-deep grass, then rusty 
wire again, and a red line of broken earth. 
There is not a sign of movement, but 
sharp eyes are always watching us, even 
as these crouching soldiers around me are 
watching them. There are dead Germans 
in the grass before us. You need not see 
them to know that they are there. A 
wounded soldier sits in a corner nursing 
his leg. Here and there men pop out like 
rabbits from dug-outs and mine-shafts. 
Others sit on the fire-step or lean smok- 
ing against the clay wall. Who would 
dream to look at their bold, careless faces 
that this is a front line, and that at any 
moment it is possible that a grey wave may 
submerge them? With all their careless 
bearing I notice that every man has his 
gas helmet and his rifle within easy reach. 
A mile of front trenches and then we 
are on our way back down that weary 
walk. Then I am whisked off upon a ten 
mile drive. There is a pause for lunch at 
Corps Headquarters, and after it we are 

[18] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

taken to a medal presentation in a market 
square. Generals Munro, Haking and 
Landon, famous fighting soldiers all three, 
are the British representatives. Munro 
with a ruddy face, and brain above 
all bulldog below; Haking, pale, distin- 
guished, intellectual; Landon a pleasant, 
genial country squire. An elderly French 
General stands beside them. British in- 
fantry keep the ground. In front are 
about fifty Frenchmen in civil dress of 
every grade of life, workmen and gentle- 
men, in a double rank. They are all so 
wounded that they are back in civil life, 
but to-day they are to have some solace 
for their wounds. They lean heavily 
on sticks, their bodies are twisted and 
maimed, but their faces are shining with 
pride and joy. The French General 
draws his sword and addresses them. 
One catches words like "honneur" and 
"patrie." They lean forward on their 
crutches, hanging on every syllable which 
comes hissing and rasping from under 
that heavy white moustache. Then the 
[19] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

medals are pinned on. One poor lad is 
terribly wounded and needs two sticks. A 
little girl runs out with some flowers. He 
leans forward and tries to kiss her, but 
the crutches slip and he nearly falls upon 
her. It was a pitiful but beautiful little 
scene. 

Now the British candidates march up 
one by one for their medals, hale, hearty 
men, brown and fit. There is a smart 
young officer of Scottish Rifles ; and then 
a selection of Worcesters, Welsh Fusiliers 
and Scots Fusiliers, with one funny little 
Highlander, a tiny figure with a soup- 
bowl helmet, a grinning boy's face beneath 
it, and a bedraggled uniform. "Many 
acts of great bravery," such was the record 
for which he was decorated. Even the 
French wounded smiled at his quaint ap- 
pearance, as they did at another Briton 
who had acquired the chewing-gum habit, 
and came up for his medal as if he had 
been called suddenly in the middle of his 
dinner, which he was still endeavouring to 
bolt. Then came the end, with the Na- 

[20] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

tional Anthem. The British regimejQt 
formed fours and went past. To me that 
was the most impressive sight of any. 
They were the Queen's West Surreys, a 
veteran regiment of the great Ypres bat- 
tle. What grand fellows! As the order 
came "Eyes right," and all those fierce, 
dark faces flashed round about us, I felt 
the might of the British infantry, the in- 
tense individuality which is not incompati- 
ble with the highest discipline. Much 
they had endured, but a great spirit shone 
from their faces. I confess that as I 
looked at those brave English lads, and 
thought of what we owe to them and to 
their like who have passed on, I felt more 
emotional than befits a Briton in foreign 
parts. 

Now the ceremony was ended, and once 
again we set out for the front. It was to 
an artillery observation post that we were 
bound, and once again my description 
must be bounded by discretion. Suffice 
it, that in an hour I found myself, together 
[21] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

with a razor-keen young artillery observer 
and an excellent old sportsman of a Rus- 
sian prince, jammed into a very small 
space, and staring through a slit at the 
German lines. In front of us lay a vast 
plain, scarred and slashed, with bare places 
at intervals, such as you see where gravel 
pits break a green common. Not a sign 
of life or movement, save some wheeling 
crows. And yet down there, within a mile 
or so, is the population of a city. Far 
away a single train is puffing at the back 
of the German lines. We are here on a 
definite errand. Away to the right, nearly 
three miles off, is a small red house, dim 
to the eye but clear in the glasses, which 
is suspected as a German post. It is to 
go up this afternoon. The gun is some 
distance away, but I hear the telephone 
directions. " 'Mother' will soon do her 
in," remarks the gunner boy cheerfully. 
"Mother" is the name of the gun. "Give 
her ^ve six three four," he cries through 
the 'phone. "Mother" utters a horrible 
bellow from somewhere on our right. An 

[22] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

enormous spout of smoke rises ten seconds 
later from near the house. "A Httle 
short," says our gunner. "Two and a half 
minutes left," adds a little small voice, 
which represents another observer at a 
different angle. "Raise her seven five," 
says our boy encouragingly. "Mother" 
roars more angrily than ever. "How will 
that do?" she seems to say. "One and a 
half right," says our invisible gossip. I 
wonder how the folk in the house are feel- 
ing as the shells creep ever nearer. "Gun 
laid, sir," says the telephone. "Fire!" I 
am looking through my glass. A flash of 
fire on the house, a huge pillar of dust and 
smoke — then it settles and an unbroken 
field is there. The German post has gone 
up. "It's a dear little gun," says the of- 
ficer boy. "And her shells are reliable," 
remarked a senior behind us. "They vary 
with different calibres, but 'Mother' never 
goes wrong." The German line was very 
quiet. "Pourquoi ils ne repondent pas?" 
asked the Russian prince. "Yes, they are 
quiet to-day," answered the senior. "But 
[23] 



A VISIT TO THREE FEONTS 

we get it in the neck sometimes." We are 
all led off to be introduced to "Mother," 
who sits, squat and black, amid twenty of 
her grimy children who wait upon and 
feed her. She is an important person is 
"JSlother," and her importance grows. It 
gets clearer with every month that it is 
she, and only she, who can lead us to the 
Rhine. She can and she will if the fac- 
tories of Britain can beat those of the 
Hun. See to it, you working men and 
women of Britain. Work now if you rest 
for ever after, for the fate of Europe and 
of all that is dear to us is in your hands. 
For "Mother" is a dainty eater, and needs 
good food and plenty. She is fond of 
strange lodgings, too, in which she prefers 
safety to dignity. But that is a danger- 
ous subject. 

***** 

One more experience of this wonderful 
day — the most crowded with impressions 
of my whole life. At night we take a car 
and drive north, and ever north, until at 
a late hour we halt and climb a hill in the 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

darkness. Below is a wonderful sight. 
Down on the flats, in a huge semi-circle, 
lights are rising and falling. They are 
very brilliant, going up for a few seconds 
and then dying down. Sometimes a dozen 
are in the air at one time. There are the 
dull thuds of explosions and an occasional 
rat-tat-tat. I have seen nothing like it, 
but the nearest comparison would be an 
enormous ten-mile railway station in full 
swing at night, with signals winking, lamps 
waving, engines hissing and carriages 
bumping. It is a terrible place down 
yonder, a place which will live as long as 
military history is written, for it is the 
Ypres Salient. What a salient it is, too ! 
A huge curve, as outlined by the lights, 
needing only a little more to be an encir- 
clement. Something caught the rope as it 
closed, and that something was the British 
soldier. But it is a perilous place still by 
day and by night. Never shall I forget 
the impression of ceaseless, malignant 
activity which was borne in upon me by 
the white, winking lights, the red sudden 
[25] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

glares, and the horrible thudding noises 
in that place of death beneath me. 



II 

In old days we had a great name as 
organisers. Then came a long period 
when we deliberately adopted a policy of 
individuality and "go as you please." 
Now once again in our sore need we have 
called on all our power of administration 
and direction. But it has not deserted us. 
We still have it in a supreme degree. 
Even in peace time we have shown it in 
that vast, well-oiled, swift-running, noise- 
less machine called the British Navy. But 
now our powers have risen with the need 
of them. The expansion of the Navy 
has been a miracle, the management of 
the transport a greater one, the formation 
of the new Army the greatest of all time. 
To get the men was the least of the dif- 
ficulties. To put them here, with every- 
thing down to the lid of the last field 
saucepan in its place, that is the marvel. 

[26] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

The tools of the gunners, and of the sap- 
pers, to say nothing of the knowledge of 
how to use them, are in themselves a huge 
problem. But it has all been met and 
mastered, and will be to the end. But 
don't let us talk any more about the mud- 
dling of the War Office. It has become 

just a little ridiculous. 

***** 

I have told of my first day, when I 
visited the front trenches, saw the work of 
"Mother," and finally that marvellous 
spectacle, the Ypres Salient at night. I 
have passed the night at the headquarters 
of a divisional-general, Capper, who 
might truly be called one of the two 
fathers of the British flying force, for it 
was he, with Templer, who laid the first 
foundations from which so great an or- 
ganisation has arisen. My morning 
was spent in visiting two fighting 
brigadiers, cheery weather-beaten soldiers, 
respectful, as all our soldiers are, of the 
prowess of the Hun, but serenely confi- 
dent that we can beat him. In company 
[27] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

with one of them I ascended a hill, the 
reverse slope of which was swarming with 
cheerful infantry in every stage of dis- 
habille, for they were cleaning up after 
the trenches. Once over the slope we ad- 
vanced with some care, and finally reached 
a certain spot from which we looked down 
upon the German line. It was the ad- 
vanced observation post, about a thousand 
yards from the German trenches, with 
our own trenches between us. We could 
see the two lines, sometimes only a few 
yards, as it seemed, apart, extending for 
miles on either side. The sinister silence 
and solitude were strangely dramatic. 
Such vast crowds of men, such intensity 
of feeling, and yet only that open rolling 
countryside, with never a movement in its 
whole expanse. 

The afternoon saw us in the Square at 
Ypres. It is the city of a dream, this 
modern Pompeii, destroyed, deserted and 
desecrated, but with a sad, proud dignity 
which made you involuntarily lower your 
voice as you passed through the ruined 

[28] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

streets. It is a more considerable place 
than I had imagined, with many traces of 
ancient grandeur. No words can describe 
the absolute splintered wreck that the 
Huns have made of it. The effect of 
some of the shells has been grotesque. One 
boiler-plated water-tower, a thing forty 
or fifty feet high, was actually standing 
on its head like a great metal top. There 
is not a living soul in the place save a 
few pickets of soldiers, and a number of 
cats which become fierce and dangerous. 
Now and then a shell still falls, but the 
Huns probably know that the devastation 
is already complete. 

We stood in the lonely grass-grown 
square, once the busy centre of the town, 
and we marvelled at the beauty of the 
smashed cathedral and the tottering Cloth 
Hall beside it. Surely at their best they 
could not have looked more wonderful 
than now. If they were preserved even 
so, and if a heaven-inspired artist were to 
model a statue of Belgium in front, Bel- 
gium with one hand pointing to the treaty 
[29] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

by which Prussia guaranteed her safety 
and the other to the sacrilege behind her, 
it would make the most impressive group 
in the world. It was an evil day for Bel- 
gium when her frontier was violated, but 
it was a worse one for Germany. I 
venture to prophesy that it will be re- 
garded by history as the greatest military 
as well as political error that has ever been 
made. Had the great guns that destroyed 
Liege made their first breach at Verdun 
what chance was there for Paris? Those 
few weeks of warning and preparation 
saved France, and left Germany as she 
now is, like a weary and furious bull, 
tethered fast in the place of trespass and 
waiting for the inevitable pole-axe. 

We were glad to get out of the place, 
for the gloom of it lay as heavy upon our 
hearts as the shrapnel helmets did upon 
our heads. Both were lightened as we 
sped back past empty and shattered villas 
to where, just behind the danger line, the 
normal life of rural Flanders was carry- 
ing on as usual. A merry sight helped to 

[30] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

cheer us, for scudding down wind above 
our heads came a Boche aeroplane, with 
two British at her tail barking away with 
their machine guns, like two swift terriers 
after a cat. They shot rat-tat-tatting 
across the sky until we lost sight of them 
in the heat haze over the German line. 

SLl ^ ^ ^ ^ 

The afternoon saw us on the Sharpen- 
burg, from which many a million will gaze 
in days to come, for from no other point 
can so much be seen. It is a spot forbid, 
but a special permit took us up, and the 
sentry on duty, having satisfied himself 
of our bona fides, proceeded to tell us 
tales of the war in a pure Hull dialect 
which might have been Chinese for all that 
I could understand. That he was a "ter- 
rier" and had nine children were the only 
facts I could lay hold of. But I wished 
to be silent and to think — even, perhaps, 
to pray. Here, just below my feet, were 
the spots which our dear lads, three of 
them my own kith, have sanctified with 
their blood. Here, fighting for the free- 
[31] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

dom of the world, they cheerily gave their 
all. On that sloping meadow to the left 
of the row of houses on the opposite ridge 
the London Scottish fought to the death 
on that grim November morning when 
the Bavarians reeled back from their shot- 
torn line. That plain away on the other 
side of Ypres was the place where the 
three grand Canadian brigades, first of all 
men, stood up to the damnable cowardly 
gases of the Hun. Down yonder is Hill 
60, that blood-soaked kopje. The ridge 
over the fields was held by the cavalry 
against two army corps, and there where 
the sun strikes the red roof among the 
trees I can just see Gheluveld, a name for 
ever to be associated with Haig and the 
most vital battle of the war. As I turn 
away I am faced by my Hull Territorial, 
who still says incomprehensible things. I 
look at him with other eyes. He has 
fought on yonder plain. He has slain 
Huns, and he has nine children. Could 
anyone better epitomise the duties of a 
good citizen? I could have found it in 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

my heart to salute him had I not known 
that it would have shocked him and made 
him unhappy. 

It has been a full day, and the next is 
even fuller, for it is my privilege to lunch 
at Headquarters, and to make the ac- 
quaintance of the Commander-in-chief and 
of his staff. It would be an invasion of 
private hospitality if I were to give the 
public the impressions which I carried 
from that charming chateau. I am the 
more sorry, since they were very vivid and 
strong. This much I will say — and any 
man who is a face reader will not need 
to have it said — that if the Army stands 
still it is not by the will of its commander. 
There will, I swear, be no happier man in 
Europe when the day has come and the 
hour. It is human to err, but never possi- 
bly can some types err by being backward. 
We have a superb army in France. It 
needs the right leader to handle it. I came 
away happier and more confident than 
ever as to the future. 

Extraordinary are the contrasts of war. 
[33] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Within three hours of leaving the quiet 
atmosphere of the Headquarters Chateau 
I was present at what in any other war 
would have been looked upon as a brisk 
engagement. As it was it would certainly 
figure in one of our desiccated reports as 
an activity of the artillery. The noise as 
we struck the line at this new point showed 
that the matter was serious, and, indeed, 
we had chosen the spot because it has been 
the storm centre of the last week. The 
method of approach chosen by our ex- 
perienced guide was in itself a tribute to 
the gravity of the affair. As one comes 
from the settled order of Flanders into 
the actual scene of war, the fu'st sign of it 
is one of the stationary, sausage-shaped 
balloons, a chain of which marks the ring 
in which the great wrestlers are locked. 
We pass under this, ascend a hill, and find 
ourselves in a garden where for a year no 
feet save those of wanderers like ourselves 
have stood. There is a wild, confused 
luxuriance of growth more beautiful to 
my eye than anything which the care of 

[34] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

man can produce. One old shell-hole of 
vast diameter has filled itself with forget- 
me-nots, and appears as a graceful basin 
of light blue flowers, held up as an atone- 
ment to heaven for the brutalities of man. 
Through the tangled bushes we creep, 
then across a yard — "Please stoop and run 
as you pass this point" — and finally to 
a small opening in a wall, whence the 
battle lies not so much before as beside 
us. For a moment we have a front seat 
at the great world-drama, God's own 
problem play, working surely to its mag- 
nificent end. One feels a sort of shame 
to crouch here in comfort, a useless spec- 
tator, while brave men down yonder are 
facing that pelting shower of iron. 

i|i ^ aU ^ ili 

There is a large field on our left rear, 
and the German gunners have the idea 
that there is a concealed battery therein. 
They are systematically searching for it. 
A great shell explodes in the top corner, 
but gets nothing more solid than a few 
tons of clay. You can read the mind of 
[35] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Gunner Fritz. "Try the lower corner!" 
says he, and up goes the earth-cloud once 
again. "Perhaps it's hid about the mid- 
dle. I'll try." Earth again, and nothing 
more. "I believe I was right the first 
time after all," says hopeful Fritz. So 
another shell comes into the top corner. 
The field is as full of pits as a Gruyere 
cheese, but Fritz gets nothing by his per- 
severance. Perhaps there never was a 
battery there at all. One effect he ob- 
viously did attain. He made several other 
British batteries exceedingly angry. 
"Stop that tickling, Fritz!" was the bur- 
den of their cry. Where they were we 
could no more see than Fritz could, but 
their constant work was very clear along 
the German line. We appeared to be us- 
ing more shrapnel and the Germans more 
high explosives, but that may have been 
just the chance of the day. The Vimy 
Ridge was on our right, and before us was 
the old French position, with the labyrinth 
of terrible memories and the long hill of 
Lorette. When, last year, the French, in 

[36] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE BRITISH ARMY 

a three weeks' battle, fought their way up 
that hill, it was an exhibition of sustained 
courage which even their military annals 
can seldom have beaten. 

7^ ':^ ^ ^ yfc 

And so I turn from the British line. 
Another and more distant task lies before 
me. I come away with the deep sense 
of the difficult task which lies before the 
Army, but with a deeper one of the ability 
of these men to do all that soldiers can 
ever be asked to perform. Let the guns 
clear the way for the infantry, and the rest 
will follow. It all lies with the guns. 
But the guns, in turn, depend upon our 
splendid workers at home, who, men and 
women, are doing so grandly. Let them 
not be judged by a tiny minority, who 
are given, perhaps, too much attention in 
our journals. We have all made sacrifices 
in the war, but when the full story comes 
to be told, perhaps the greatest sacrifice 
of all is that which Labour made when, 
with a sigh, she laid aside that which it had 
taken so many weary years to build. 
[37] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE 
ITALIAN ARMY 

ONE meets with such extreme kind- 
ness and consideration among the 
Italians that there is a real danger lest 
one's personal feeling of obligation should 
warp one's judgment or hamper one's ex- 
pression. Making every possible allow- 
ance for this I come away from them, after 
a very wide if superficial view of all that 
they are doing, with a deep feeling of ad- 
miration and a conviction that no army in 
the world could have made a braver at- 
tempt to advance under conditions of ex- 
traordinary difficulty. 

First a word as to the Italian soldier. 
He is a type by himself which differs from 
the earnest solidarity of the new French 
army, and from the business-like alertness 
of the Briton, and yet has a very special 
dash and fire of its own, covered over by 

[38] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

a very pleasing and unassuming manner. 
London has not yet forgotten Durando of 
Marathon fame. He was just such an- 
other easy smihng youth as I now see 
everywhere around me. Yet there came 
a day when a hundred thousand London- 
ers hung upon his every movement — when 
strong men gasped and women wept at 
his invincible but unavailing spirit. When 
he had fallen senseless in that historic race 
on the very threshold of his goal, so high 
was the determination within him that 
while he floundered on the track Hke a 
broken-backed horse, with the senses gone 
out of him his legs still continued to drum 
upon the cinder path. Then when by pure 
will power he staggered to his feet and 
drove his dazed body across the line it was 
an exhibition of pluck which put the little 
sunburned baker straightway among Lon- 
don's heroes. Durando's spirit is alive to- 
day. I see thousands of him all around me. 
A thousand such led by a few young gen- 
tlemen of the type who occasionally give 
us object lessons in how to ride at 
[39] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Olympia, make no mean battalion. It has 
been a war of most desperate ventures but 
never once has there been a lack of vol- 
unteers. The Tyrolese are good men — 
too good to be fighting in so rotten a cause. 
But from first to last the Alpini have had 
the ascendency in the hill fighting, as the 
line regiments have against the Kaiserlics 
upon the plain. Csesar told how the big 
Germans used to laugh at his little men un- 
til they had been at handgrips with them. 
The Austrians could tell the same tale. 
The spirit in the ranks is something mar- 
vellous. There have been occasions when 
every officer has fallen and yet the men 
have pushed on, have taken a position and 
then waited for official directions. 

But if that is so, you will ask, why is 
it that they have not made more impres- 
sion upon the enemy's position? The 
answer lies in the strategical position of 
Italy, and it can be discussed without any 
technicalities. A child could understand 
it. The Alps form such a bar across the 
north that there are only tAvo points where 

[40] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

serious operations are possible. One is 
the Trentino Salient where Austria can 
always threaten and invade Italy. She 
lies in the mountains with the plains be- 
neath her. She can always invade the 
plain, but the Italians cannot seriously 
invade the mountains since the passes 
would only lead to other mountains be- 
yond. Therefore their only possible 
policy is to hold the Austrians back. This 
they have most successfully done, and 
though the Austrians with the aid of a 
shattering heavy artillery have recently 
made some advance it is perfectly certain 
that they can never really carry out any 
serious invasion. The Italians then have 
done all that could be done in this quarter. 
There remains the other front, the opening 
by the sea. Here the Italians had a chance 
to advance over a front of plain bounded 
by a river with hills beyond. They cleared 
the plain, they crossed the river, they 
fought a battle very like our own battle 
of the Aisne upon the slopes of the hills, 
taking 20,000 Austrian prisoners, and now 
[41] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

they are faced by barbed wire, machine 
guns, cemented trenches, and every other 
device which has held them as it has held 
everyone else. But remember what they 
have done for the common cause and be 
grateful for it. They have in a year oc- 
cupied some forty Austrian divisions, and 
relieved our Russian allies to that very ap- 
preciable extent. They have killed or 
wounded a quarter of a million, taken 40,- 
000, and drawn to themselves a large por- 
tion of the artillery. That is their record 
up-to-date. As to the future it is very 
easy to prophesy. They will continue to 
absorb large enemy armies. Neither side 
can advance far as matters stand. But if 
the Russians advance and Austria has to 
draw her men to the East there will be 
a tiger spring for Trieste. If manhood 
can break the line then I believe the Du- 
randos will do it. 

"Trieste o morte!" I saw chalked upon 
the walls all over North Italy. That is 
the Italian objective. 

And they are excellently led. Cadorna 

[42] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

is an old Roman, a man cast in the big 
simple mould of antiquity, frugal in his 
tastes, clear in his aims, with no thought 
outside his duty. Everyone loves and 
trusts him. Porro, the Chief of the Staff, 
who was good enough to explain the 
strategical position to me, struck me as a 
man of great clearness of vision, middle- 
sized, straight as a dart, with an eagle 
face grained and coloured like an old wal- 
nut. The whole of the staff work is, as 
experts assure me, most excellently done. 
So much for the general situation. Let 
me descend for a moment to my own 
trivial adventures since leaving the British 
front. Of France I hope to say more in 
the future, and so I will pass at a bound 
to Padua, where it appeared that the 
Austrian front had politely advanced to 
meet me, for I was wakened betimes in 
the morning by the dropping of bombs, the 
rattle of anti-aircraft guns and the distant 
rat-tat-tat of a maxim high up in the air. 
I heard when I came down later that the 
intruder had been driven away and that 
[43] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

little damage had been done. The work of 
the Austrian aeroplanes is, however, very- 
aggressive behind the Italian lines, for 
they have the great advantage that a row^ 
of fine cities lies at their mercy while the 
Italians can do nothing without injuring 
their own kith and kin across the border. 
This dropping of explosives on the chance 
of hitting one soldier among fifty victims 
seems to me the most monstrous develop- 
ment of the whole war, and the one which 
should be most sternly repressed in future 
international legislation — if such a thing 
as international law still exists. The 
Italian headquarter town, which I will 
call Nemini, was a particular victim of 
these murderous attacks. I speak with 
some feeling, as not only was the ceiling 
of my bedroom shattered some days before 
my arrival, but a greasy patch with some 
black shreds upon it was still visible above 
my window which represented part of the 
remains of an unfortunate workman, who 
had been blown to pieces immediately in 
front of the house. The air defence 

[44] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

is very skilfully managed, however, and 
the Italians have the matter well in hand. 
My first experience of the Italian line 
was at the portion which I have called the 
gap by the sea, otherwise the Isonzo front. 
From a mound behind the trenches an 
extraordinary fine view can be got of the 
Austrian position, the general curve of 
both lines being marked, as in Flanders, 
by the sausage balloons which float behind 
them. The Isonzo, which has been so 
bravely carried by the Italians, lay in 
front of me, a clear blue river, as broad 
as the Thames at Hampton Court. In a 
hollow to my left were the roofs of Gorizia, 
the town which the Italians are endeavour- 
ing to take. A long desolate ridge, the 
Carso, extends to the south of the town, 
and stretches down nearly to the sea. The 
crest is held by the Austrians and the 
Italian trenches have been pushed within 
fifty yards of them. A lively bombard- 
ment was going on from either side, but 
so far as the infantry goes there is none 
of that constant malignant petty warfare 
[46] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

with which we are f amihar in Flanders. I 
was anxious to see the Itahan trenches, 
in order to compare them with our British 
methods, but save for the support and 
communication trenches I was courteously 
but firmly warned oiF. 

The story of trench attack and defence 
is no doubt very similar in all quarters, 
but I am convinced that close touch should 
be kept between the Allies on the matter 
of new inventions. The quick Latin brain 
may conceive and test an idea long before 
we do. At present there seems to be very 
imperfect sympathy. As an example, when 
I was on the British lines they were dealing 
with a method of clearing barbed wire. 
The experiments were new and were caus- 
ing great interest. But on the Italian 
front I found that the same system had 
been tested for many months. In the use 
of bullet-proof jackets for engineers and 
other men who have to do exposed work 
the Itahans are also ahead of us. One of 
their engineers at our headquarters might 
give some valuable advice. At present the 

[46] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

Italians have, as I understand, no military 
representative with our armies, while they 
receive a British General with a small staff. 
This seems very wrong not only from the 
point of view of courtesy and justice, but 
also because Italy has no direct means of 
knowing the truth about our great de- 
velopment. When Germans state that our 
new armies are made of paper our Allies 
should have some official assurance of their 
own that this is false. I can understand 
our keeping neutrals from our head- 
quarters, but surely our Allies should be 
on another footing. 

Having got this general view of the 
position I was anxious in the afternoon 
to visit Monfalcone, which is the small 
dockyard captured from the Austrians on 
the Adriatic. My kind Italian officer 
guides did not recommend the trip as it 
was part of their great hospitality to shield 
their guest from any part of that danger 
which they were always ready to incur 
themselves. The only road to Monfalcone 
ran close to the Austrian position at the 
[47] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

village of Ronchi, and afterwards kept 
parallel to it for some miles. I was told 
that it was only on odd days that the Aus- 
trian guns were active in this particular 
section, so determined to trust to luck that 
this might not be one of them. It proved, 
however, to be one of the worst on record, 
and we were not destined to see the dock- 
yard to which we started. 

The civilian cuts a ridiculous figure 
when he enlarges upon small adventures 
which may come his way — adventures 
which the soldier endures in silence as part 
of his everyday life. On this occasion, 
however, the episode was all our own, and 
had a sporting flavour in it which made it 
dramatic. I know now the feeling of tense 
expectation with which the driven grouse 
whirrs onwards towards the butt. I have 
been behind the butt before now, and it is 
only poetic justice that I should see the 
matter from the other point of view. As 
we approached Ronchi we could see shrap- 
nel breaking over the road in front of us, 
but we had not yet realised that it was 

[48] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

precisely for vehicles that the Austrians 
were waiting, and that they had the range 
marked out to a yard. We went down the 
road all out at a steady fifty miles an 
hour. The village was near, and it seemed 
that we had got past the place of danger. 
We had in fact just reached it. At this 
moment there was a noise as if the whole 
four tyres had gone simultaneously, a most 
terrific bang in our very ears, merging 
into a second sound like a reverberating 
blow upon an enormous gong. As I 
glanced up I saw three clouds immediately 
above my head, two of them white and the 
other of a rusty red. The air was full 
of flying metal and the road, as we were 
told afterwards by an observer, was all 
churned up by it. The metal base of one 
of the shells was found plumb in the mid- 
dle of the road just where our motor had 
been. There is no use telling me Austrian 
gunners can't shoot. I know better. 

It was our pace that saved us. The 
motor was an open one, and the three 
shells burst, according to one of my 
[49] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Italian companions who was himself an 
artillery officer, about ten metres above 
our heads. They threw forward, how- 
ever, and we travelling at so great a pace 
shot from under. Before they could get 
in another we had swung round the curve 
and under the lee of a house. The good 
Colonel B. wrung my hand in silence. 
They were both distressed, these good sol- 
diers, under the impression that they had 
led me into danger. As a matter of fact 
it was I who owed them an apology, since 
they had enough risks in the way of busi- 
ness without taking others in order to 
gratify the whim of a joy-rider. Bar- 
bariche and Clericetti, this record will con- 
vey to you my remorse. 

Our difficulties were by no means over. 
We found an ambulance lorry and a little 
group of infantry huddled under the same 
shelter with the expression of people who 
had been caught in the rain. The road be- 
yond was under heavy fire as well as that 
by which we had come. Had the Ostro- 
Bosches dropped a high-explosive upon us 

[50] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

they would have had a good mixed bag. 
But apparently they were only out for 
fancy shooting and disdained a sitter. 
Presently there came a lull and the lorry 
moved on, but we soon heard a burst of 
firing which showed that they were after 
it. My companions had decided that it 
was out of the question for us to finish our 
excursion. We waited for some time 
therefore and were able finally to make 
our retreat on foot, being joined later by 
the car. So ended mj^ visit to Monfalcone, 
the place I did not reach. I hear that two 
10,000-ton steamers were left on the stocks 
there by the Austrians, but were disabled 
before they retired. Their cabin basins 
and other fittings are now adorning the 
Italian dug-outs. 

My second day was devoted to a view 
of the Italian mountain warfare in the 
Carnic Alps. Besides the two great fronts, 
one of defence (Trentino) and one of of- 
fence (Isonzo), there are very many 
smaller valleys which have to be guarded. 
The total frontier line is over four hundred 
[51] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

miles, and it has all to be held against raids 
if not invasions. It is a most picturesque 
business. Far up in the Roccolana Valley 
I found the Alpini outposts, backed by 
artillery which had been brought into the 
most wonderful positions. They have 
taken 8-inch guns where a tourist could 
hardly take his knapsack. Neither side 
can ever make serious progress, but there 
are continual duels, gun against gun, or 
Alpini against Jaeger. In a little wayside 
house was the brigade headquarters, and 
here I was entertained to lunch. It was 
a scene that I shall remember. They drank 
to England. I raised my glass to Italia 
irredenta — might it soon be redenta. They 
all sprang to their feet and the circle of 
dark faces flashed into flame. They keep 
their souls and emotions, these people. I 
trust that ours may not become atrophied 
by self-suppression. 

The Italians are a quick high-spirited 
race, and it is very necessary that we 
should consider their feelings, and that we 
should show our sympathy with what they 

[52] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

have done, instead of making querulous 
and unreasonable demands of them. In 
some ways they are in a difficult position. 
The war is made by their splendid king — 
a man of whom everyone speaks with ex- 
traordinary reverence and love — and by 
the people. The people with the deep in- 
stinct of a very old civilisation understand 
that the liberty of the world and their 
own national existence are really at stake. 
But there are several forces which divide 
the strength of the nation. There is the 
clerical, which represents the old Guelph 
or German spirit, looking upon Austria 
as the eldest daughter of the church — a 
daughter who is little credit to her mother. 
Then there is the old nobility. Finally, 
there are the commercial people who 
through the great banks or other similar 
agencies have got into the influence and 
employ of the Germans. When you con- 
sider all this you will appreciate how 
necessary it is that Britain should in every 
possible way, moral and material, sustain 
the national party. Should by any evil 
[53] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

chance the others gain the upper hand 
there might be a very sudden and sinister 
change in the international situation. 
Every man who does, says, or writes a 
thing which may in any way alienate the 
Italians is really, whether he knows it or 
not, working for the King of Prussia. 
They are a grand people, striving most 
efficiently for the common cause, with all 
the dreadful disabilities which an absence 
of coal and iron entails. It is for us to 
show that we appreciate it. Justice as 
well as policy demands it. 

The last day spent upon the Italian 
front was in the Trentino. From Verona 
a motor drive of about twenty-five miles 
takes one up the valley of the Adige, and 
past a place of evil augury for the Aus- 
trians, the field of Rivoli. As one passes 
up the valley one appreciates that on their 
left wing the Italians have position after 
position in the spurs of the mountains be- 
fore they could be driven into the plain. 
If the Austrians could reach the plain it 
would be to their own ruin for the Italians 

[54] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

have large reserves. There is no need for 
any anxiety about the Trentino. 

The attitude of the people behind the 
firing line should give one confidence. I 
had heard that the Italians were a nervous 
people. It does not apply to this part of 
Italy. As I approached the danger spot 
I saw rows of large, fat gentlemen with 
long thin black cigars leaning against walls 
in the sunshine. The general atmosphere 
would have steadied an epileptic. Italy 
is perfectly sure of herself in this quarter. 
Finally, after a long drive of winding 
gradients, always beside the Adige, we 
reached Ala, where we interviewed the 
Commander of the Sector, a man who has 
done splendid work during the recent 
fighting. ''By all means you can see my 
front. But no motor-car, please. It draws 
fire and others may be hit beside you." 
We proceeded on foot therefore along a 
valley which branched at the end into two 
passes. In both very active fighting had 
been going on, and as we came up the 
guns were baying merrily, waking up most 
[55] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

extraordinary echoes in the hills. It was 
difficult to believe that it was not thunder. 
There was one terrible voice that broke 
out from time to time in the mountains — 
the angry voice of the Holy Roman Em- 
pire. When it came all other sounds died 
down into nothing. It was — so I was 
told — the master gun, the vast 42 centi- 
metre giant which brought down the pride 
of Liege and Namur. The Austrians 
have brought one or more from Innsbruck. 
The Italians assure me, however, as we 
have ourselves discovered, that in trench 
work beyond a certain point the size of the 
gun makes little matter. 

We passed a burst dug-out by the road- 
side where a tragedy had occurred re- 
cently, for eight medical officers were 
killed in it by a single shell. There was no 
particular danger in the valley, however, 
and the aimed fire was all going across us 
to the fighting lines in the two passes above 
us. That to the right, the Valley of Buel- 
lo, has seen some of the worst of the fight- 
ing. These two passes form the Italian 

[56] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

left wing which has held firm all through. 
So has the right wing. It is only the cen- 
tre which has been pushed in by the con- 
centrated fire. 

When we arrived at the spot where the 
two valleys forked we were halted, and we 
were not permitted to advance to the ad- 
vance trenches which lay upon the crests 
above us. There was about a thousand 
yards between the adversaries. I have 
seen types of some of the Bosnian and 
Croatian prisoners, men of poor physique 
and intelligence, but the Italians speak 
with chivalrous praise of the bravery of 
the Hungarians and of the Austrian 
Jaeger. Some of their proceedings dis- 
gust them, however, and especially the 
fact that they use Russian prisoners to dig 
trenches under fire. There is no doubt of 
this, as some of the men were recaptured 
and were sent on to join their comrades 
in France. On the whole, however, it may 
be said that in the Austro-Italian war 
there is nothing which corresponds with 
the extreme bitterness of our western con- 
[57] 



"■«*; 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

flict. The presence or absence of the Hun 
makes all the difference. 

Nothing could be more cool or me- 
thodical than the Italian arrangements on 
the Trentino front. There are no troops 
who would not have been forced back by 
the Austrian fire. It corresponded with 
the French experience at Verdun, or ours 
at the second battle of Ypres. It may- 
well occur again if the Austrians get their 
guns forward. But at such a rate it would 
take them a long time to make any real 
impression. One cannot look at the of- 
ficers and men without seeing that their 
spirit and confidence are high. In answer 
to my inquiry they assure me that there 
is little difference between the troops of 
the northern provinces and those of the 
south. Even among the snows of the Alps 
they tell me that the Sicilians gave an ex- 
cellent account of themselves. 

That night found me back at Verona 
and next morning I was on my way to 
Paris where I hope to be privileged to 
have some experiences at the front of our 

[58] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE ITALIAN ARMY 

splendid Allies. I leave Italy with a deep 
feeling of gratitude for the kindness shown 
to me, and of admiration for the way in 
which they are playing their part in the 
world's fight for freedom. They have 
every possible disadvantage, economic and 
pohtical. But in spite of it they have done 
splendidly. Three thousand square kilo- 
metres of the enemy's country are already 
in their possession. They relieve to a very 
great extent the pressure upon the Rus- 
sians who, in spite of all their bravery, 
might have been overwhelmed last sum- 
mer during the "durchbruch" had it not 
been for the diversion of so many Aus- 
trian troops. The time has come now 
when Russia by her advance on the Pripet 
is repaying her debt. But the debt is com- 
mon to all the Allies. Let them bear it 
in mind. There has been mischief done 
by slighting criticism and by inconsiderate 
words. A warm sympathetic hand grasp 
of congratulation is what Italy has de- 
served, and it is both justice and policy 
to give it. 
[59] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH 
LINE 



THE French soldiers are grand. They 
are grand. There is no other word 
to express it. It is not merely their brav- 
ery. All races have shown bravery in this 
war. But it is their solidity, their patience, 
their nobility. I could not conceive any- 
thing finer than the bearing of their offi- 
cers. It is proud without being arrogant, 
stern without being fierce, serious without 
being depressed. Such, too, are the men 
whom they lead with such skill and devo- 
tion. Under the frightful hammer-blows 
of circumstance, the national characters 
seem to have been reversed. It is our 
British soldier who has become debonair, 
light-hearted and reckless, while the 
Frenchman has developed a solemn stolid- 

[60] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

ity and dour patience which was once all 
our own. During a long day in the 
French trenches, I have never once heard 
the sound of music or laughter, nor have 
I once seen a face that was not full of the 
most grim determination. 

Germany set out to bleed France white. 
Well, she has done so. France is full of 
widows and orphans from end to end. 
Perhaps in proportion to her population 
she has suffered the most of all. But in 
carrying out her hellish mission Germany 
has bled herself white also. Her heavy 
sword has done its work, but the keen 
French rapier has not lost its skill. France 
will stand at last, weak and tottering, with 
her huge enemy dead at her feet. But it 
is a fearsome business to see — such a busi- 
ness as the world never looked upon before. 
It is fearful for the French. It is fear- 
ful for the Germans. May God's curse 
rest upon the arrogant men and the un- 
holy ambitions which let loose this horror 
upon humanity! Seeing what they have 
done, and knowing that they have done 
[61] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

it, one would think that mortal brain 
would grow crazy under the weight. Per- 
haps the central brain of all was crazy 
from the first. But what sort of govern- 
ment is it under which one crazy brain 
can wreck mankind ! 

If ever one wanders into the high places 
of mankind, the places whence the guid- 
ance should come, it seems to me that one 
has to recall the dying words of the Swed- 
ish Chancellor who declared that the folly 
of those who governed was what had 
amazed him most in his experience of life. 
Yesterday I met one of these men of pow- 
er — M. Clemenceau, once Prime Minister, 
now the destroyer of governments. He is 
by nature a destroyer, incapable of re- 
building what he has pulled down. With 
his personal force, his eloquence, his thun- 
dering voice, his bitter pen, he could wreck 
any policy, but would not even trouble to 
suggest an alternative. As he sat before 
me with his face of an old prizefighter (he 
is remarkably like Jim Mace as I can 
remember him in his later days) , his angry 

[62] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

grey eyes and his truculent, mischievous 
smile, he seemed to me a very dangerous 
man. His conversation, if a squirt on one 
side and Niagara on the other can be called 
conversation, was directed for the moment 
upon the iniquity of the English rate of 
exchange, which seemed to me very much 
like railing against the barometer. My 
companion, who has forgotten more eco- 
nomics than ever Clemenceau knew, was 
about to ask whether France was prepared 
to take the rouble at face value, but the 
roaring voice, like a strong gramophone 
with a blunt needle, submerged all argu- 
ment. We have our dangerous men, but 
we have no one in the same class as Cle- 
menceau. Such men enrage the people 
who know them, alarm the people who 
don't, set everyone by the ears, act as a 
healthy irritant in days of peace, and are 
a public danger in days of war. 

^£. ^ ^ ikL ^ 

^ ^ 7^ y{C yfZ 

But this is digression. I had set out to 
say something of a day's experience of the 
French front, though I shall write with a 
[63] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

fuller pen when I return from the Ai-gonne. 
It was for Soissons that we made, pass- 
ing on the way a part of the scene of our 
own early operations, including the battle- 
field of Villers Cotteret — just such a wood 
as I had imagined. My companion's 
nephew was one of those Guards' officers 
whose bodies rest now in the village ceme- 
tery, with a little British Jack still flying 
above them. They lie together, and their 
grave is tended with pious care. Among 
the trees beside the road were other graves 
of soldiers, buried where they had fallen. 
"So look around — and choose your ground 
— and take your rest." 

Soissons is a considerable wreck, though 
it is very far from being an Ypres. But 
the cathedral would, and will, make many 
a patriotic Frenchman weep. These sav- 
ages cannot keep their hands off a beauti- 
ful church. Here, absolutely unchanged 
through the ages, was the spot where St. 
Louis had dedicated himself to the Cru- 
sade. Every stone of it was holy. And 
now the lovely old stained glass strews the 

[64] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

floor, and the roof lies in a huge heap 
across the central aisle. A dog was climb- 
ing over it as we entered. No wonder the 
French fight well. Such sights would 
drive the mildest man to desperation. The 
abbe, a good priest, with a large humorous 
face, took us over his shattered domain. 
He was full of reminiscences of the Ger- 
man occupation of the place. One of his 
personal anecdotes was indeed marvellous. 
It was that a lady in the local ambulance 
had vowed to kiss the first French soldier 
who re-entered the town. She did so, and 
it proved to be her husband. The abbe 
is a good, kind, truthful man — but he has 
a humorous face. 

A walk down a ruined street brings one 
to the opening of the trenches. There are 
marks upon the walls of the German occu- 
pation. "Berlin— Paris," with an arrow 
of direction, adorns one corner. At an- 
other the 76th Regiment have commemo- 
rated the fact that they were there in 1870 
and again in 1914. If the Soissons folk 
are wise they will keep these inscriptions 
[65] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

as a reminder to the rising generation. I 
can imagine, however, that their inclina- 
tion will be to whitewash, fumigate, and 
forget. 

A sudden turn among some broken walls 
takes one into the communication trench. 
Our guide is a Commandant of the Staff, 
a tall, thin man with hard, grey eyes and 
a severe face. It is the more severe to- 
wards us as I gather that he has been de- 
luded into the behef that about one out 
of six of our soldiers goes to the trenches. 
For the moment he is not friends with the 
English. As we go along, however, we 
gradually get upon better terms, we dis- 
cover a twinkle in the hard, grey eyes, 
and the day ends with an exchange of 
walking-sticks and a renewal of the En- 
tente. May my cane grow into a mar- 
shal's baton. 

***** 

A charming young artillery subaltern is 
our guide in that maze of trenches, and 
we walk and walk and walk, with a brisk 
exchange of comphments between the 

[66] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

"75's" of the French and the "77's" of the 
Germans going on high over our heads. 
The trenches are boarded at the sides, and 
have a more permanent look than those of 
Flanders. Presently we meet a fine, 
brown-faced, upstanding boy, as keen as 
a razor, who commands this particular sec- 
tion. A little further on a helmeted cap- 
tain of infantry, who is an expert sniper, 
joins our little party. Now we are at the 
very front trench. I had expected to see 
primeval men, bearded and shaggy. But 
the "Poilus" have disappeared. The men 
around me were clean and dapper to a 
remarkable degree. I gathered, however, 
that they had their internal difficulties. On 
one board I read an old inscription, "He 
is a Boche, but he is the inseparable com- 
panion of a French soldier." Above was 
a rude drawing of a louse. 

I am led to a cunning loop-hole, and 
have a glimpse through it of a little framed 
picture of French countryside. There are 
fields, a road, a sloping hill beyond with 
trees. Quite close, about thirty or forty 
[67] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

yards away, was a low, red-tiled house. 
"They are there," said our guide. "That 
is their outpost. We can hear them 
cough." Only the guns were coughing that 
morning, so we heard nothing, but it was 
certainly wonderful to be so near to the 
enemy and yet in such peace. I suppose 
wondering visitors from Berlin are 
brought up also to hear the French cough. 
Modern warfare has certainly some ex- 
traordinary sides. 

Now we are shown all the devices which 
a year of experience has suggested to the 
quick brains of our Allies. It is ground 
upon which one cannot talk with freedom. 
Every form of bomb, catapult, and trench 
mortar was ready to hand. Every method 
of cross-fire had been thought out to an 
exact degree. There was something, how- 
ever, about the disposition of a machine 
gun which disturbed the Commandant, 
He called for the officer of the gun. His 
thin lips got thinner and his grey eyes 
more austere as we waited. Presently 
there emerged an extraordinarily hand- 
les] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

some youth, dark as a Spaniard, from 
some rabbit hole. He faced the Com- 
mandant bravely, and answered back with 
respect but firmness. 'Tourquoi?" asked 
the Commandant, and yet again "Pour- 
quoi?" Adonis had an answer for every- 
thing. Both sides appealed to the big 
Captain of Snipers, who was clearly em- 
barrassed. He stood on one leg and 
scratched his chin. Finally the Com- 
mandant turned away angrily in the midst 
of one of Adonis' voluble sentences. His 
face showed that the matter was not ended. 
War is taken very seriously in the French 
army, and any sort of professional mis- 
take is very quickly punished. I have 
been told how many officers of high rank 
have been broken by the French during 
the war. The figure was a very high one. 
There is no more forgiveness for the 
beaten General than there was in the days 
of the Repubhc when the delegate of the 
National Convention, with a patent port- 
able guillotine, used to drop in at head- 
[69] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

quarters to support a more vigorous of- 
fensive. 

a|/, aU ijt ^|t it 

As I write these lines there is a burst of 
bugles in the street, and I go to my open 
window to see the 41st of the line march 
down into what may develop into a con- 
siderable battle. How I wish they could 
march down the Strand even as they are. 
How London would rise to them ! Laden 
like donkeys, with a pile upon their backs 
and very often both hands full as well, 
they still get a swing into their march 
which it is good to see. They march in 
column of platoons, and the procession is 
a long one, for a French regiment is, of 
course, equal to three battalions. The men 
are shortish, very thick, burned brown in 
the sun, with never a smile among them — 
have I not said that they are going down 
to a grim sector? — ^but with faces of gran- 
ite. There was a time when we talked of 
stiffening the French army. I am pre- 
pared to believe that our first expedition- 
ary force was capable of stiffening any 

[70] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

conscript army, for I do not think that a 
finer force ever went down to battle. But 
to talk about stiffening these people now 
would be ludicrous. You might as well 
stiffen the old Guard. There may be weak 
regiments somewhere, but I have never 
seen them. 

I think that an injustice has been done 
to the French army by the insistence of 
artists and cinema operators upon the 
picturesque Colonial corps. One gets an 
idea that Arabs and negroes are pulling 
France out of the fire. It is absolutely 
false. Her own brave sons are doing the 
work. The Colonial element is really a 
very small one — so small that I have not 
seen a single unit during all my French 
wanderings. The Colonials are good men, 
but like our splendid Highlanders they 
catch the eye in a way which is sometimes 
a little hard upon their neighbours. When 
there is hard work to be done it is the 
good little French piou-piou who usually 
has to do it. There is no better man in 
[71] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Europe. If we are as good — and I believe 
we are — it is something to be proud of. 

^ ^ ^ ^T^ 

But I have wandered far from the 
trenches of Soissons. It had come on to 
rain heavily, and we were forced to take 
refuge in the dug-out of the sniper. Eight 
of us sat in the deep gloom huddled closely 
together. The Commandant was still 
harping upon that ill-placed machine gun. 
He could not get over it. My imperfect 
ear for French could not follow all his com- 
plaints, but some defence of the offender 
brought forth a "Jamais! Jamais! Ja- 
mais!" which was rapped out as if it came 
from the gun itself. There were eight of 
us in an underground burrow, and some 
were smoking. Better a deluge than such 
an atmosphere as that. But if there is a 
thing upon earth which the French officer 
shies at it is rain and mud. The reason 
is that he is extraordinarily natty in his 
person. His charming blue uniform, his 
facings, his brown gaiters, boots and belts 
are always just as smart as paint. He 

[72] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

is the Dandy of the European war. I 
noticed officers in the trenches with their 
trousers carefully pressed. It is all to 
the good, I think. Wellington said that 
the dandies made his best officers. It is 
difficult for the men to get rattled or 
despondent when they see the debonair 
appearance of their leaders. 

Among the many neat little marks upon 
the French uniforms which indicate with 
precision but without obtrusion the rank 
and arm of the wearer, there was one 
which puzzled me. It was to be found on 
the left sleeve of men of all ranks, from 
generals to privates, and it consisted of 
small gold chevrons, one, two, or more. 
No rule seemed to regulate them, for the 
general might have none, and I have 
heard of the private who wore ten. Then 
I solved the mystery. They are the 
record of wounds received. What an ad- 
mirable idea! Surely we should hasten 
to introduce it among our own soldiers. 
It costs little and it means much. If you 
can allay the smart of a wound by the 
[73] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

knowledge that it brings lasting honour to 
the man among his fellows, then surely it 
should be done. Medals, too, are more 
freely distributed and with more public 
parade than in our service. I am con- 
vinced that the effect is good. 

***** 

The rain has now stopped, and we climb 
from our burrow. Again we are led down 
that endless line of communication trench, 
again we stumble through the ruins, again 
we emerge into the street where our cars 
are awaiting us. Above our heads the 
sharp artillery duel is going merrily for- 
ward. The French are firing three or four 
to one, which has been my experience at 
every point I have touched upon the Al- 
lied front. Thanks to the extraordinary 
zeal of the French workers, especially of 
the French women, and to the clever 
adaptation of machinery by their en- 
gineers, their supplies are abundant. 
Even now they turn out more shells a 
day than we do. That, however, excludes 
our supply for the Fleet. But it is one 

[74] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

of the miracles of the war that the French, 
with their coal and iron in the hands of 
the enemy, have been able to equal the 
production of our great industrial cen- 
tres. The steel, of course, is supplied by 
us. To that extent we can claim credit 
for the result. 

And so, after the ceremony of the walk- 
ing sticks, we bid adieu to the lines of 
Soissons. To-morrow we start for a 
longer tour to the more formidable dis- 
trict of the Argonne, the neighbour of 
Verdun, and itself the scene of so much 
that is glorious and tragic. 



II 

There is a couplet of Stevenson's 
which haunts me, "There fell a war in 
a woody place — in a land beyond the 
sea." I have just come back from spend- 
ing three wonderful dream days in that 
woody place. It lies with the open, bosky 
country of Verdun on its immediate right, 
and the chalk downs of Champagne upon 
[75] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

its left. If one could imagine the lines 
being taken right through our New Forest 
or the American Adirondacks it would 
give some idea of the terrain, save that it 
is a very undulating country of abrupt hills 
and dales. It is this peculiarity which has 
made the war on this front different to 
any other, more picturesque and more 
secret. In front the fighting lines are half 
in the clay soil, half behind the shelter of 
fallen trunks. Between the two the main 
bulk of the soldiers live like animals of 
the woodlands, burrowing on the hillsides 
and among the roots of the trees. It is a 
war by itself, and a very wonderful one 
to see. 

At three different points I have visited 
the front in this broad region, wandering 
from the lines of one army corps to that 
of another. In all three I found the same 
conditions, and in all three I found also 
the same pleasing fact which I had dis- 
covered at Soissons, that the fire of the 
French was at least five, and very often 
ten shots to one of the Boche. It used not 

[^6] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

to be SO. The Germans used to scrupu- 
lously return shot for shot. But whether 
they have moved their guns to the neigh- 
bouring Verdun, or whether, as is more 
likely, all the munitions are going there, 
it is certain that they were very outclassed 
upon the three days (June 10, 11, 12) 
which I allude to. There were signs that 
for some reason their spirits were at a low 
ebb. On the evening before our arrival 
the French had massed all their bands at 
the front, and, in honour of the Russian 
victory, had played the Marseillaise and 
the Russian National hymn, winding up 
with general shoutings and objurgations 
calculated to annoy. Failing to stir up the 
Boche, they had ended by a salute from 
a hundred shotted guns. After trailing 
their coats up and down the line they had 
finally to give up the attempt to draw 
the enemy. Want of food may possibly 
have caused a decline in the German spirit. 
There is some reason to believe that they 
feed up their fighting men at the places 
like Verdun or Hooge, where they need 
[77] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

all their energy, at the expense of the men 
who are on the defensive. If so, we may 
find it out when we attack. The French 
officers assured me that the prisoners and 
deserters made bitter complaints of their 
scale of rations. And yet it is hard to 
believe that the fine efforts of our enemy 
at Verdun are the work of half-starved 
men. 

To return to my personal impressions, 
it was at Chalons that we left the Paris 
train — a town which was just touched by 
the most forward ripple of the first great 
German floodtide. A drive of some 
twenty miles took us to St. Menehould, 
and another ten brought us to the front 
in the sector of Divisional-General H. 
A fine soldier this, and heaven help Ger- 
many if he and his division get within its 
borders, for he is, as one can see at a 
glance, a man of iron who has been goaded 
to fierceness by all that his beloved coun- 
try has endured. He is a man of middle 
size, swarthy, hawk-like, very abrupt in 

[78] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

his movements, with two steel grey eyes, 
which are the most searching that mine 
have ever met. His hospitality and 
courtesy to us were beyond all bounds, 
but there is another side to him, and it is 
one which it is wiser not to provoke. In 
person he took us to his lines, passing 
through the usual shot-torn villages be- 
hind them. Where the road dips down 
into the great forest there is one particular 
spot which is visible to the German artil- 
lery observers. The General mentioned it 
at the time, but his remark seemed to have 
no personal interest. We understood it 
better on our return in the evening. 

Now we found ourselves in the depths 
of the woods, primeval woods of oak and 
beech in the deep clay soil that the great 
oak loves. There had been rain and the 
forest paths were ankle deep in mire. 
Everywhere, to right and left, soldiers' 
faces, hard and rough from a year of 
open air, gazed up at us from their bur- 
rows in the ground. Presently an alert, 
blue-clad figure stood in the path to greet 
[79] 



A VISIT TO THREE KIONTS 

US. It was the Colonel of the sector. He 
was ridiculously like Cyrano de Bergerac 
as depicted by the late M. Coquelin, save 
that his nose was of more moderate pro- 
portion. The ruddy colouring, the bris- 
tling feline full-ended moustache, the 
solidity of pose, the backward tilt of the 
head, the general suggestion of the ban- 
tam cock, were all there facing us as he 
stood amid the leaves in the sunlight. 
Gauntlets and a long rapier — nothing else 
was wanting. Something had amused 
Cyrano. His moustache quivered with 
suppressed mirth, and his blue eyes were 
demurely gleaming. Then the joke came 
out. He had spotted a German working 
party, his guns had concentrated on it, 
and afterwards he had seen the stretchers 
go forward. A grim joke, it may seem. 
But the French see this war from a dif- 
ferent angle to us. If we had the Boche 
sitting on our heads for two years, and 
were not yet quite sure whether we could 
ever get him off again, we should get 
Cyrano's point of view. Those of us who 

[80] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

have had our folk murdered by Zeppelins 
or tortured in German prisons have prob- 
ably got it already. 

***** 

We passed in a little procession among 
the French soldiers, and viewed their 
multifarious arrangements. For them we 
were a little break in a monotonous life, 
and they formed up in hues as we passed. 
My own British uniform and the civilian 
dresses of my two companions interested 
them. As the General passed these 
groups, who formed themselves up in per- 
haps a more familiar manner than would 
have been usual in the British service, he 
glanced kindly at them with those singular 
eyes of his, and once or twice addressed 
them as "Mes enfants." One might con- 
ceive that all was "go as you please" 
among the French. So it is as long as 
you go in the right way. When you stray 
from it you know it. As we passed a 
group of men standing on a low ridge 
which overlooked us there was a sudden 
stop. I gazed round. The General's face 
[81] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

was steel and cement. The eyes were cold 
and yet fiery, sunlight upon icicles. Some- 
thing had happened. Cyrano had sprung 
to his side. His reddish moustache had 
shot forward beyond his nose, and it bris- 
tled out like that of an angry cat. Both 
were looking up at the group above us. 
One wretched man detached himself from 
his comrades and sidled down the slope. 
No skipper and mate of a Yankee blood 
boat could have looked more ferociously 
at a mutineer. And yet it was all over 
some minor breach of discipline which was 
summarily disposed of by two days of con- 
finement. Then in an instant the faces 
relaxed, there was a general buzz of relief 
and we were back at "Mes enfants" again. 
But don't make any mistake as to disci- 
pline in the French army. 

Trenches are trenches, and the main 
specialty of these in the Argonne is that 
they are nearer to the enemy. In fact 
there are places where they interlock, and 
where the advanced posts lie cheek by jowl 
with a good steel plate to cover both cheek 

[82] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

and jowl. We were brought to a sap head 

where the Germans were at the other side 

of a narrow forest road. Had I leaned 

forward with extended hand and a Boche 

done the same we could have touched. 

I looked across, but saw only a tangle 

of wire and sticks. Even whispering was 

not permitted in these forward posts. 
***** 

When we emerged from these hushed 
places of danger Cyrano took us all to 
his dug-out, which was a tasty little cot- 
tage carved from the side of a hill and 
faced with logs. He did the honours of 
the humble cabin with the air of a seigneur 
in his chateau. There was little furniture, 
but from some broken mansion he had ex- 
tracted an iron fire-back, which adorned 
his grate. It was a fine, mediaeval bit of 
work, with Venus, in her traditional cos- 
tume, in the centre of it. It seemed the 
last touch in the picture of the gallant, 
virile Cyrano. I only met him this once, 
nor shall I ever see him again, yet he stands 
a thing complete within my memory. 
[83] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

Even now as I write these lines he walks 
the leafy paths of the Argonne, his fierce 
eyes ever searching for the Boche workers, 
his red moustache bristling over their an- 
nihilation. He seems a figure out of the 
past of France. 

That night we dined with yet another 
type of the French soldier, General A., 
who commands the corps of which my 
friend has one division. Each of these 
French generals has a striking individual- 
ity of his own which I wish I could fix 
upon paper. Their only conmion point is 
that each seems to be a rare good soldier. 
The corps General is Athos with a touch 
of d'Artagnan. He is well over six feet 
high, bluff, jovial, with huge, upcurling 
moustache, and a voice that would rally 
a regiment. It is a grand figure which 
should have been done by Van Dyck with 
lace collar, hand on sword, and arm 
akimbo. Jovial and laughing was he, but 
a stern and hard soldier was lurking be- 
hind the smiles. His name may appear 
in history, and so may Humbert's, who 

[84] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

rules all the army of which the other's 
corps is a unit. Humbert is a Lord 
Robert's figure, small, wiry, quick-step- 
ping, all steel and elastic, with a short, 
sharp upturned moustache, which one 
could imagine as crackling with electric- 
ity in moments of excitement like a cat's 
fur. What he does or says is quick, 
abrupt, and to the point. He fires his re- 
marks like pistol shots at this man or 
that. Once to my horror he fixed me 
with his hard httle eyes and demanded, 
"Sherlock Holmes, est ce qu'il est un 
soldat dans I'armee Anglaise?" The 
whole table waited in an awful hush. 
"Mais, mon general," I stammered, "II 
est trop vieux pour service." There was 
general laughter, and I felt that I had 
scrambled out of an awkward place. 

And talking of awkward places, I had 
forgotten about that spot upon the road 
whence the Boche observer could see our 
motor-cars. He had actually laid a gun 
upon it, the rascal, and waited all the long 
day for our return. No sooner did we 
[85] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

appear upon the slope than a shrapnel 
shell burst above us, but somewhat behind 
me, as well as to the left. Had it been 
straight the second car would have got 
it, and there might have been a vacancy 
in one of the chief editorial chairs in Lon- 
don. The General shouted to the driver 
to speed up, and we were soon safe from 
the German gunners. One gets perfectly 
immune to noises in these scenes, for the 
guns which surround you make louder 
crashes than any shell which bursts about 
you. It is only when you actually see 
the cloud over you that your thoughts 
come back to yourself, and that you realise 
that in this wonderful drama you may be 
a useless super, but none the less you 
are on the stage and not in the stalls. 

^ ^ ^ "sJf -^ 

Next morning we were down in the 
front trenches again at another portion of 
the line. Far away on our right, from a 
spot named the Observatory, we could see 
the extreme left of the Verdun position 
and shells bursting on the Fille Morte. 

[86] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

To the north of us was a broad expanse 
of sunny France, nestling villages, scat- 
tered chateaux, rustic churches, and all as 
inaccessible as if it were the moon. It is 
a terrible thing this German bar — a thing 
unthinkable to Britons. To stand on the 
edge of Yorkshire and look into Lanca- 
shire feeling that it is in other hands, that 
our fellow-countrymen are suffering there 
and waiting, waiting, for help, and that 
we cannot, after two years, come a yard 
nearer to them — would it not break our 
hearts? Can I wonder that there is no 
smile upon the grim faces of these French- 
men! But when the bar is broken, when 
the line sweeps forward, as most surely it 
will, when French bayonets gleam on 
yonder uplands and French flags break 
from those village spires — ah, what a day 
that will be! Men will die that day from 
the pure, dehrious joy of it. We cannot 
think what it means to France, and the 
less so because she stands so nobly patient 
waiting for her hour. 

Yet another type of French general 
[87] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

takes us round this morning! He, too, 
is a man apart, an unforgettable man. 
Conceive a man with a large broad good- 
humoured face, and two placid, dark seal's 
eyes which gaze gently into yours. He is 
young and has pink cheeks and a soft 
voice. Such is one of the most redoubt- 
able fighters of France, this General of 
Division D. His former staff officers 
told me something of the man. He is a 
philosopher, a fatalist, impervious to fear, 
a dreamer of distant dreams amid the most 
furious bombardment. The weight of the 
French assault upon the terrible labyrinth 
fell at one time upon the brigade which 
he then commanded. He led them day 
after day gathering up Germans with the 
detached air of the man of science who is 
hunting for specimens. In whatever shell- 
hole he might chance to lunch he had his 
cloth spread and decorated with wild 
flowers plucked from the edge. If fate 
be kind to him he will go far. Apart 
from his valour he is admitted to be one 

[88] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

of the most scientific soldiers of France. 

From the Observatory we saw the de- 
struction of a German trench. There had 
been signs of work upon it, so it was de- 
cided to close it down. It was a very- 
visible brown streak a thousand yards 
away. The word was passed back to the 
"75 's" in the rear. There was a "tir 
rapide" over our heads. My word, the 
man who stands fast under a "tir rapide,'' 
be he Boche, French or British, is a man 
of mettle ! The mere passage of the shells 
was awe-inspiring, at first like the scream- 
ing of a wintry wind, and then thickening 
into the howling of a pack of wolves. The 
trench was a line of terrific explosions. 
Then the dust settled down and all was 
still. Where were the ants who had made 
the nest? Were they buried beneath it? 
Or had they got from under? No one 
could say. 

There was one little gun which fasci- 
nated me, and I stood for some time watch- 
ing it. Its three gunners, enormous 
helmeted men, evidently loved it, and 
[89] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

touched it with a swift but tender touch 
in every movement. When it was fired 
it ran up an incHned plane to take off the 
recoil, rushing up and then turning and 
rattling down again upon the gunners 
who were used to its ways. The first time 
it did it, I was standing behind it, and 
I don't know which moved quickest — the 
gun or I. 

French officers above a certain rank 
develop and show their own individuality. 
In the lower grades the conditions of 
service enforce a certain uniformity. The 
British officer is a British gentleman first, 
and an officer afterwards. The French- 
man is an officer first, though none the less 
the gentleman stands behind it. One very 
strange type we met, however, in these 
Argonne Woods. He was a French- 
Canadian who had been a French soldier, 
had founded a homestead in far Alberta, 
and had now come back of his own will, 
though a naturalised Briton, to the old 
flag. He spoke English of a kind, the 
quality and quantity being equally extra- 

[90] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

ordinary. It poured from him and was, 
so far as it was intelligible, of the woolly 
Western variety. His views on the Ger- 
mans were the most emphatic we had met. 
"These Godam sons of" — well, let us say 
"Canines!" he would shriek, shaking his 
fist at the woods to the north of him. A 
good man was our compatriot, for he had 
a very recent Legion of Honour pinned 
upon his breast. He had been put with 
a few men on Hill 285, a sort of volcano 
stuffed with mines, and was told to tele- 
phone when he needed relief. He refused 
to telephone and remained there for three 
weeks. "We sit like a rabbit in his hall," 
he explained. He had only one grievance. 
There were many wild boars in the forest, 
but the infantry were too busy to get them. 
"The Godam Artillaree he get the wild 
pig!" Out of his pocket he pulled a pic- 
ture of a frame-house with snow round it, 
and a lady with two children on the stoop. 
It was his homestead at Trochu, seventy 
miles north of Calgary. 

^ iji ijfi, i|i Jt 

[91] 



A VISIT TO THREE FRONTS 

It was the evening of the third day 
that we turned our faces to Paris once 
more. It was my last view of the French. 
The roar of their guns went far with me 
upon my way. Soldiers of France, fare- 
well! In your own phrase I salute you! 
Many have seen you who had more knowl- 
edge by which to judge your manifold 
virtues, many also who had more skiU-to 
draw you as you are, but never one, I am 
sure, who admired you more than I. 
Great was the French soldier under Louis 
the Sun-King, great too under Napoleon, 
but never was he greater than to-day. 

And so it is back to England and to 
home. I feel sobered and solemn from all 
that I have seen. It is a blind vision which 
does not see more than the men and the 
guns, which does not catch something of 
the terrific spiritual conflict which is at 
the heart of it. 

Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming 

of the Lord — 
He is trampling out the vineyard where the 

grapes of wrath are stored. 

[92] 



A GLIMPSE OF THE FRENCH LINE 

We have found no inspired singer yet, 
like Julia Howe, to voice the divine mean- 
ing of it all — that meaning which is more 
than numbers or guns upon the day of bat- 
tle. But who can see the adult manhood 
of Europe standing in a double line, wait- 
ing for a signal to throw themselves upon 
each other, without knowing that he has 
looked upon the most terrific of all the 
dealings between the creature below and 
that great force above, which works so 
strangely towards some distant but 
glorious end? 



FINIS 



[93] 



I 



I 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Maanesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: JuN 2001 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Part^ Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 

(724) 779-2111 






LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




1 |:i :':i>iiii 



I III 111 i 1 1 III ll III 
007 690 441 8 m 



